


and he is kind, too

by fernlyan_epho



Category: Dune - All Media Types, Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Genre: Ceremonial Sex, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, they're not having sex for fun, they've consented but they're kind of compelled by politics yes?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26945662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernlyan_epho/pseuds/fernlyan_epho
Summary: A society so heavily invested in genetics would not simply let a marriage go unconsummated. The Reverend Mother, knowing Paul's intentions for Irulan, insisted on a ceremony, guaranteeing Irulan one chance, and hopefully paving the way for more.Irulan endures.--Potentially set before "at your pleasure, Princess" but also a standalone
Relationships: Paul Atreides/Irulan Corrino
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	and he is kind, too

**Author's Note:**

> I maintain that no archive warnings apply; both parties have consented to this. However, neither of them really want to be doing this, or at least not in this manner, and it's not very feel-good. Procede with care!

Behind the screen, she could hear the noise of what she supposed was the second half of her wedding reception. At midnight, an already-small guest list had reduced itself to three: her father, Paul’s mother, and the Reverend Mother, who had officiated the affair and insisted on this finale. Over the clink of glasses and the scrape of spoons, her father’s baritone laugh indicated he was drunk enough to be comfortable with the situation. She wondered if Paul’s mother was in favor of this display. She, too, was Bene Gesserit, after all. 

The palace hadn’t been up for a proper fete, too occupied with stripping the evidence of Harkonnen occupation and other more mundane post-battle logistics. The wedding itself had mostly been about witnessed paperwork, and the reception hardly grander than a common state dinner. Indeed, she was surprised she had acquired a proper dress in the short time she had been here.

The dress had been lovely, if foreign. She had always thought she would be married in something oppressively heavy—thick silk or whale fur, burdened even further down by jewels and boned petticoats—but handmade Arrakeen lace was equally rich. One could tell by the care with which the two Arrakeen attendant-maidens took as they helped her out of it. They were veiled, but Irulan could guess that they were hardly more than fourteen or fifteen. _Children_ , she thought. _I bet they think they know so much_.

They dressed her in a nightgown of unfamiliar material. It was too thin to be real silk, she thought, and too soft to be cambric. It was very lovely, and she would have asked about it if she could have found her voice. Anyway, they had likely been forbidden to speak to her.

They went before her, to prepare the bed. She had been foolish enough to hope when she had seen the heavy brocade curtains, that this procedure would be somewhat private, but she could hear them drawing them aside.

A stepstool had been provided, to spare her the indignity of climbing into bed. _How considerate_ , she thought bitterly. _It wouldn’t do to watch a princess tumble into bed; we’re only interested in her subsequent tumbling_. But she swallowed and arranged herself in the center of the bed, legs straight in front, arms at her side. She called upon the Bene Gesserit calming ritual: _Deep breath in, out in one, two, three_.

The table was perhaps three meters from the bed. It was round, but all three observers were sitting on the opposite third of it, in order to verify the proceedings. Lady Jessica stared into her coffee impassively, or perhaps in shame. No Bene Gesserit lady could pretend embarrassment about sex, but perhaps a person could find something distasteful in watching her child through a bedding ceremony. Something her own father could use to learn.

Paul had been at the table when she had left, sagely sitting silent. He had established his power in battle and following negotiations; whatever power he was forfeiting by obeying the Reverend Mother’s demand for consummation was more than made up for by the power he acquired in this marriage. He had no need to dominate conversation, the way her father felt he did. It was noble, and it made Irulan proud to have chosen to marry him, even if it was a charade of choice.

He was now behind the screen, where a different pair of servants were divesting him of his Atreides dress uniform—another miraculous find in the depths of the castle. She comforted herself with the fact that the first wedding ceremony had been surprisingly fashionable. He emerged in a robe of sorts, made of the same material as her own. She saw there were minor fastenings in the front. She hoped she would not be responsible for undoing them.

He, too, took advantage of the stepstool, doing his best to maintain grace as he positioned himself opposite her on his knees. Irulan noted that the plushness of the bed, what should have been a luxury, would only add a layer of difficulty to this performance, though perhaps a layer of allure for their audience.

“You’ll do best if you lie down,” he murmured. His voice was soft, and truthful. “We needn’t make this more than it has to be.”

Irulan nodded and scooted back against the pillows, slowly reclining. She allowed him to adjust her legs so he could be between them, willing herself to perfect pliability.

He ran his hands up her legs. If he found her water-fed softness appealing, his face didn’t show it; a mask of some mix of indifference and professionalism covered his features. Irulan reminded herself that even if he had demanded her in marriage, he had no desire for her—as person or body or anything other than title. This was a concession on both of their parts.

Had he known what it would involve?

His hands reached the juncture between her legs, and he ran his fingers through her hair, one finger cautiously probing at her. She inhaled sharply and tensed as he applied pressure and inserted said finger, perhaps an inch deep.

“You’ll need to relax,” he said, frustratingly dispassionate.

“I _know_ ,” she spat back, surprised at, and immediately regretting, her temper.

For the first time, he looked her in the eyes, and Irulan’s regret doubled, seeing his own sadness. How many days had it been since he lost his son? He should be mourning with his Fremen woman now, not putting on a performance of reproduction with a princess he barely knew.

“I’m sorry,” she said. As she once again began the calming ritual, she noticed he joined her. She had heard women praise their Bene Gesserit mothers-in-law for their wedding nights, but this was not usually what they meant. Nevertheless.

She lay back and stared at the canopy. Even without the curtains, the acoustics were strange here. She could hardly hear the goings-on at the table, but she could hear Paul’s even breath.

He ran his hands soothingly up and down her thighs, squeezing gently. The slow rhythm calmed her nerves, and as he teased closer and closer to her sex she could feel her desire building—her pulse increasing, her breath shallowing, moisture gathering between her legs. The next time his fingers reached her, one finger slid in easily. She gasped as it moved inside her, wiggling against her walls to loosen her and drawing up to circle her clit a few times before entering her again, this time accompanied by a second finger.

She felt her hips begin to move sympathetically, and she squeezed her eyes shut to avoid any other feeling. This was good. His fingers made a beckoning motion inside her and she began to whimper, though she quickly stopped herself. _I will not moan like a whore while my father listens._

When he removed his hand, she opened her eyes. He had unfastened his robe, and she could see a sheen of sweat on his brow, his lips, his chest. She did not look farther, where his hand was slowly pumping his cock, lubricating himself with her fluids. _It’s a shame_ , she mused. _That against odds I have such an attractive husband, and yet cannot enjoy him._

“Are you ready?” he asked. She nodded. _And he is kind, too_.

He entered her carefully but she still cried out. Even the acoustics of the bed were not enough for her ignore the reaction, the pause and then the laughter, the murmur of side remarks. She could recreate it in her head, her father making some comment about virgins, the Reverend Mother agreeing with the kind of remark that someone of Irulan’s rank should have been spared. Her anxieties came rushing back; her eyes wide and her breath shaking.

“Shh,” Paul said, his face now much closer. He signaled a deep breath in, which they let out together _one, two, three_.

He began to thrust into her steadily. The give of the bed meant that she bounced along with every motion, back and forth and back and forth. She was glad for her nightgown, and for Paul’s arms caging her; her audience couldn’t gawk at the undulations of her torso or the bounce of her breasts. 

She didn’t know what to do with her hands. Despite the fact that he was fucking her, she didn’t feel they were friendly enough to embrace, and to bring her hands to his face or his hair was far too intimate. Besides, his face was turned away from her, probably to spare her from having to share her indignity any further, or perhaps to preserve his own privacy, to let him think of his own shame. 

She felt tears spilling down her cheeks. She didn’t know whether the catches in her breath were from pleasure or sorrow. _Deep breath in, out in one, two, three_.

Paul must have noticed her calming ritual; he shifted slightly, and brought his hand down to rub at her clit. She spasmed with pleasure, and practically keened, but then shook her head in protest. She couldn’t bear to feel so good and so miserable at the same time.

“Paul, no,” she managed to whisper.

He turned his head to look at her, and once again Irulan was struck by the gravity in his eyes. She saw him notice the tears on her face, and she thought he nodded in understanding, though the wobbling bed obscured some of the motion.

A few seconds later, he turned away again. Undoubtedly her puffy eyes were not conducive to finishing this sooner rather than later. Her tears increased.

She listened to the noises he made in the back of his throat, and further down in his chest. They were speeding up, but seemed carefully managed. Was he, too, suppressing his pleasure? Did he freely sigh and moan in bed with his Fremen woman? 

_How unfair. Tomorrow he will return to the warm bed of his woman. I will warm my own bed for the rest of my life._

The last few thrusts were short and hard before he tensed and spilled into her.

He eased himself to her side, taking a few seconds to catch his breath, still not looking at her. She could hear her father’s applause.

“Paul,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he replied, breathless.

“Will you kiss me once?” Her tears were unceasing now. She was sure that was gauche on Arrakis, to let water fall so uselessly onto pillowcases. She would have to break the habit.

He kissed her twice. Once on each wet cheek.

She couldn’t get her breath back to thank him. Or to curse him for denying her a single romantic gesture on her wedding night.

She felt the bed shift as Paul dismounted, and heard him walk behind the screen. She could no longer hear noise at the table. Perhaps they had left, the proof of marriage provided. 

As she lay there, she tried to recall her training. _Lay still, knees up, this may be your only chance._ She tried to conjure the power she had over her own womb, reciting litanies of life, but the only ones on her lips were ones for strength and endurance, and they were all interrupted by unprompted, abortive sobs. This was certainly disgraceful. She wondered if her nightgown was ruined. 

Perhaps she’d lay here all night, wake up sore and sticky for her first day as empress of a miserable empire. 

_But he’d kissed her twice!_

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Belated Birthday Frank Herbert! Many apologies!
> 
> Dune's preoccupation with genetics and bloodlines makes me think that consummation would be essential to legally-recognized marriage. I still think bedding ceremonies would be rather uncommon, otherwise Irulan would have been more prepared for this. Perhaps most royal weddings see couples to their beds but leave them to it. There is something perverse about watching your children have sex, after all. 
> 
> Let me know if I got anything wrong (unintentionally) so I can fix it!


End file.
